


Issues

by AislingSiobhan



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Flashbacks, Language, Love/Hate, M/M, Slash, Underage Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-19 06:59:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1460170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AislingSiobhan/pseuds/AislingSiobhan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex has issues. Not surprising really considering the extent to which his life has changed in such a short amount of time. But that’s not what he has a problem with. Nor does he have a problem with his feelings, and he won’t deny that he does have feelings for him. The problem is with whom his feelings are for: Yassen Gregorovich. (Originally posted: 09 Feb 2009)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Issues

This is my first Alex Rider fiction. When I first got into AR, there were actually only about 10 fictions at FFnet, and they were all het, so I went off the fandom completely. But have decided to move all of my old stuff from FFnet to AO3 and I’ve made my way to this one. So enjoy… 

**Issues**

**Author:** Aisling, AislingSiobhan, k155_me, etc.  
 **Rating:** NC-17/Mature  
 **Disclaimer:** Any mention of ‘Stormbreaker’, ‘Alex Rider’, any associated entities, or any copyrighted material pertaining therein is reasonably protected by the Fair Use Rule of the United States Copyright Act of 1976, and is not intended to infringe upon any copyrighted material. The song is not mine either, and is credited individually in the contents of the story.   
**Warnings:** Violence, Slash, Angst, Love/Hate, Underage, Language.   
**Summary:** [Yassen/Alex] Alex has issues. Not surprising really considering the extent to which his life has changed in such a short amount of time. But that’s not what he has a problem with. Nor does he have a problem with his feelings, and he won’t deny that he does have feelings for him. The problem is with whom his feelings are for: Yassen Gregorovich. 

 

**Words:** 6,321  
 **Chapter 1/1**  
 _Theres a part of me won’t let you go  
I keep saying yes when my mind’s saying no  
Me and my heart we got issues  
Don’t know if I should hate you or miss you  
Damn I wish that I could resist you  
Can’t decide if I should slap you or kiss you  
Me and my heart we got issues  
Wanna fight it, can’t hide it,   
Truth is I think I like it. _ \- The Saturdays, “Issues”. 

He had always thought he had reacted accordingly. 

When someone murders somebody you love, you’re supposed to be angry with them. And Alex had been angry. When he had first been told that Ian had been killed he had been shocked and afraid, which was natural. But he had also been so very curious, and as he had been told numerous times since then curiosity killed that cat. Ian wouldn’t have died because he forgot to put his seat belt on; Ian always wore his seat belt. His curiosity was possibly what had gotten Alex involved in the first place. If Alex hadn’t of been so curious, he would never have jumped out of that window, swung around on the flagpole, and snuck back into Ian Rider’s old office. MI6 had been pretty impressed with that, he remembered. 

When they finally told Alex how his uncle really died he had been angry, but a part of him was relieved. He had been relieved to know that it wasn’t Ian’s fault he was dead, that Ian hadn’t intentionally (through want or fault) left him alone. It had been Yassen’s fault. If it weren’t for the assassin, Alex’s uncle would have been alive still. And if weren’t for Yassen, Alex would never have been sent to Cornwall, nor would he have nearly been shot by Harold Sayle. 

And when he had first seen Yassen the man had just shot a dockworker. Alex had been pretty angry and shocked then. So yeah, he had reacted appropriately. And the time after that, he had been angry too, watching as Yassen watched him being dragged along by security. But, when they were standing front to front on the helipad, Alex had tried to pretend he was angry, but he wasn’t really. Not that much. Not as much as he was curious. He wanted to reach out and feel what Yassen’s hair was like, to touch Yassen’s skin and lips, he was curious as to how Yassen would react if the fourteen-year-old asked to kiss him. He had been more attracted than angry, but Alex didn’t think that was his fault. He was a teenager! Every thing that walked was attractive to him at that age, so, mostly it was Yassen’s fault for being attractive and not shooting him. 

Alex supposed, a small part of the blame lay with MI6, who should have known better than to send a fourteen-year-old school boy out to do a man’s job. But if it weren’t for them, Yassen Gregorovich would never have saved his life. 

“Tebula Rasa,”1 Yassen had whispered to him once, their cheeks flush against the other’s, as his hand slid down Alex’s back to cup his arse. “A life for a life.” Alex had moaned at the soft brushes of Yassen’s lips on his skin, he could feel every word that the Russian spoke. 

“Doesn’t change the fact that I hate you.” The boy had spat back, ignoring the fact that his chest was heaving and his heart was pumping frantically, more from desire than fear. His fingers clutched at the fabric of Yassen’s shirt, his hips pressed forward, even as his mind screamed at him to pull away. He didn’t pull back. He never did. Alex pressed closer instead, and it was just like always. 

Their mouths met, and it was furious and angry and passionate, and there wasn’t a thing about it that Alex would change. As far as kisses went, there was nothing sweet or romantic about it like the kisses he had shared with Sabina. Yassen’s kisses were the stuff wet dreams were made of. His toes curled; bare footed, they sank into the shag carpet, before he rose onto the balls of his feet, leaning up to crush his mouth harder against Yassen’s. The elder man swallowed Alex’s cry, his hand pinching the child’s backside before moving forward to cup the prominent bulge at the front of his pants. 

Alex gasped, pulled back and like every other time they met, he tried to think of a reason to leave. There were so many reasons why he shouldn’t be there. 

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” Yassen drawled, only the slightest hint of an accent present in his speech. “You like me very much in fact.” His hand moved forward, palming Alex’s erection through his trousers. Fingers nimbly unzipped Alex’s jeans, and pushed them down, baring his groin and thighs. The boy wasn’t wearing underwear. 

Alex kicked the jeans away. Mindlessly, he reached forward to fumble with the buttons on Yassen’s slacks, finally freeing them, and with a tug the Russian was naked from the waist down. 

“You killed Ian.”

“I saved your life.” 

Their lips met again. Yassen’s shirt joined his slacks on the floor, followed swiftly by Alex’s jumper. With a moan, Alex found himself pushed back onto the bed, spread eagle and he waited, watching as Yassen crawled his way up the bed to hover just above Alex’s erection. Lips parted and warm breathed ghosted over him, and he arched his back with a whimper. 

“You tried to cut off Sabina’s fingers.”

A tongue flicked out to trace the vein on the underside of his cock, before Yassen let out a chuckle. “You haven’t seen the girl for a year, does she still matter?” Alex didn’t say anything. Yassen watched him, his eyes blue and clear, but they crinkled at the corners as he looked fondly on John Rider’s son. “I was shot. I nearly died to protect you.” Yassen said it with a smirk, before he lowered his head, taking Alex’s erection into his mouth. 

They met again a few months later, in France, where Yassen had been hired to blow up a journalist. Alex just happened to be staying in that journalist’s home, and taking the explosion personally, Alex had snuck aboard the Russian’s yacht and held him at gunpoint. Watching Yassen lying on the bed, unconcerned and relaxed had caused a pang in Alex’s chest. The gun had wavered slightly, as if begging Alex to lie it down somewhere and crawl into the bed beside the assassin. When Yassen had spoken to him, the words were muffled and fuzzy, drowned out by the voice in Alex’s head screaming, ‘kiss him’. 

He had. He had kissed Yassen Gregorovich. 

Shockingly, Yassen had kissed him back. Alex had moaned, and panted, happily lying half naked beneath the Russian, hands and fingers and lips brushing skin as they both moaned and panted. Just as Yassen was above to press inside of him, Alex had suddenly shoved him away, eyes wide and heart hammering frantically.

“You tried to kill me!” He had shrieked suddenly, and Yassen had watched him calmly, spread out on the bed with a smile. 

“I did not.” 

“Yes you-” He trailed off, eyes widening. “You were trying to kill Sabina’s father!” 

Yassen had not denied it. In the silence, Alex ignored the other man completely and began pulling his own clothing on. When he was dressed, so was the Russian, both of them completely covered just before the door swung open and two of Yassen’s co-workers ran into the room. A small part of Alex wished that he had let it carry on, he didn’t deny that he had been aroused and attracted and excited. But it was wrong, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it wrong to desire the man who had killed so many, who had killed his uncle? Shouldn’t he have wanted to shoot Yassen instead? 

He didn’t regret the accusations, but he had been disappointed that Yassen had not tried to defend himself. The next time they met, Yassen knew better. 

The Russian had barely survived being shot by Damien Cray, and though MI6 allowed Alex to continue living believing the other man was dead, Yassen had been recuperation in a maximum-security reformatory. While Yassen was escaping, Alex was flying back into the country from Thailand. When they met, Alex had said, “you’re dead!” 

Yassen’s hand had moved, slowly, stopping just above Alex’s heart. “So are you, but at least I don’t look it.” His face was impassive but Alex could just about make out the slightest hint of worry as it flashed through those blue eyes. 

Alex had laughed, softly, carelessly, like he had not laughed since his uncle had died, and it was the perfect moment for Yassen to lean forward and claim his lips in a kiss. Alex was supposed to be at the Royal and General ten minutes later for his debriefing, but instead he found himself following Yassen into the back of a hackney cab. The Russian practically dragged Alex into the motel, and up the stairs before unlocking the door to the room he was staying in. They tumbled to the bed together, naked and wanting, but Alex couldn’t quite let himself give in. 

“You killed my uncle.”

“I saved your life.”

There was silence. Alex chewed on his bottom lip softly, peering up at Yassen from under his eyelashes. “My father really worked for MI6.”

“I know.” Their eyes locked, and the lack of rage or resentment made up Alex’s mind for him. His first time was explosive. Frantic and passionate. Alex cried and screamed for it to stop as much as he panted and begged for more, and Yassen gave him everything he wanted. His nails left gouges on the Russian’s back, and the assassin left hand shaped bruises on Alex’s hips and thighs, bite marks across his neck and jaw, and Alex threw his head back and gave in to what his heart was telling him. 

But when the morning came, he was gone without a word. Yassen watched him leave silently, pretending to be asleep as Alex woke and debated with himself, before deciding he couldn’t stay. 

Three months later, Alex was sent to Paris to infiltrate a child smuggling organisation, and Yassen happened to be in the same building shooting dead the man who had just bought Alex. 

“You killed him,” Alex breathed, wide eyed. The man who had dragged him, bound and bruised, into the room drew his gun. But Yassen shot him first, killing him before he had even switched off the safety. 

“He was going to hurt you.” 

Alex’s breath caught in his throat, and for a moment his heart forgot to beat. “It was a mission,” he explained as Yassen untied him. 

“It matters not.” With that, they kissed. Their mouths met and Alex opened his mouth and allowed Yassen’s tongue to enter and lick at his own. Hands gripped the elder man’s shoulders, and Yassen cupped Alex’s arse and lifted him. Alex found himself sat on the desk, ignoring the dead body that had slumped to the ground behind it as he reached out to undo Yassen’s belt. 

They had sex again, and Alex’s body sang wherever the other man touched him. He was like an instrument, and Yassen played him perfectly, with grace and precision, and when it was over it was so much harder for Alex to leave than it was the last time. 

Their conversations were not an irregular occurrence. Alex generally had to convince himself, to have Yassen convince him, that it was ok for them to be together. If Yassen ever found himself without a reply, there was no doubt that Alex would walk away. Over the past year, the Russian had learnt that first hand, leaving him hard and frustrated but also amused. 

There was silence for a while, broken only by the wet noises Yassen was making, and the frantic, raged breaths Alex was drawing in. 

“You sent me to Scorpia.” Alex cried, his hips bucking wildly some time later. He came with a groan, head thrown back, and he was the epitome of breath taking. Yassen drew back. He began littering soft butterfly kisses along Alex’s stomach and chest, moving higher and higher until they were face to face. 

He held himself up on his arms, careful not to crush the fifteen-year-old. Alex looked up at the assassin warily. His breath caught, worried that the man would not say anything, would not justify himself. Alex really didn’t want to leave; his mind knew he should. His heart told him to stay, but his head told him to push Yassen away and get dress, and leave. He knew he shouldn’t come back. Funnily enough he always found himself right back here, underneath the elder man, panting and satisfied and wanting desperately for a reason to spread his legs without a fight. 

“I thought they would help you. I was wrong.” Yassen told him, leaning down to kiss Alex’s jaw. 

Alex allowed him to spread his legs apart. Slick fingers brushed against his opening, and Alex tensed, waiting until one had pushed passed the guardian ring of muscle before he spoke again. His body was almost too far-gone. Yassen knew just from looking down at the boy that his resolve would not hold much longer. He kissed Alex, hungrily, swallowing any protest or statement or question that Alex had just been about to utter. When the kiss ended, three fingers were withdrawing from his arse. Alex watched as Yassen coated himself in lubricant, before moving to rest between his thighs again. Large hands and long fingers were splayed over creamy-white thighs, spreading them further apart as Yassen pressed them closer together. 

“You once told me it would be best if we didn’t meet again.” Alex trailed off; the last two words were reduced to little more than a whispered moan as Yassen pushed into him. 

“I was wrong.” The Russian grunted. His body was tense with the effort it took to hold himself still until Alex was accustomed to him. He wanted to just move, to push into the boy and out and in again until Alex was wailing his name, but he was patient. When Alex bucked up into him, he drew back, before slamming forward harshly a moment later: it wrung a startled cry out of the fair-haired teenager. “I was pleasantly wrong, in fact.” Yassen smirked. 

Brown eyes widened as a hand began to fist him. Alex’s mouth dropped open and he gasped, tears clouding his vision as he looked up at Yassen’s face. Blue eyes gazed down at him, and a smile flickered across those familiar lips, a smile meant only for John and Alex Rider. Alex gasped, arching upwards, his fingers curling into Yassen’s short-cropped hair. 

“Come for me, love,” the Russian breathed into Alex’s ear. His lips fluttered lightly along the shell of the boy’s ear as he spoke, and it made Alex tremble. “Let go for me.” 

“Yassen!” He gasped, coming hard with a cry, releasing himself into Yassen’s fist. The elder man licked at his fingers, keeping eye contact with Alex as he pressed his fingers to Alex’s lips, sharing the taste of the teenager’s passion. As Alex sucked on his fingers, Yassen orgasmed with a soft grunt, collapsing on top of Alex. Alex felt a rush of warmth within him, and he tightened his legs around Yassen’s waist involuntarily before he went slack, allowing the Russian to withdraw and roll off of him. 

“I suppose you are leaving then?” The assassin’s face gave nothing away, but Alex knew him well enough by now to know that he was hurt. Yassen wasn’t someone who got close to people, and the fact that he cared about Alex enough to let it show, and the fact that Alex was still alive despite leaving time and time again, just went to show how close Yassen had let him get to Alex. 

The boy paused, his t-shirt half over his head. “I have to leave for Cairo later this evening.” 

“I see.” 

Alex felt his heart clench as Yassen rose gracefully from the bed. He did not seem to care that he was sticky and sweaty. With an air of aloofness he dressed himself, keeping his eyes away from Alex the entire time. Alex swallowed back the words that were forcing themselves to the tip of his tongue. He wanted to say, ‘stay’, ‘wait for me’, ‘come with me’ even, but his head wouldn’t let him. He knew he cared for Yassen, there was no point arguing that fact because it was stupidly obvious that there was a reason he just kept coming back. For more than a year, he had found himself right back where he started, trying to think up a reason to walk away forever. 

But there was no reason that he had yet thought of. And, apart from the first time, Yassen had never not given him a reason to stay. 

It was wrong, wasn’t it? To love someone who murdered someone else you love? He knew it was wrong, Jack had screamed it at him so many times in the first month after she had found out. Eventually he had been forced to lie, to tell her that it was a mistake, to tell her he had been taken advantage of but now Yassen had gone away and was leaving him alone. She had called him a traitor, and Alex knew she regretted saying it, but that didn’t make it any less true. He was betraying Ian’s memory. Hell, it could be considered, in a way, that he was betraying MI6 by sleeping with the enemy, quite literally, but he couldn’t find it within himself to care about that. 

But Ian! 

Ian mattered to him. Ian had loved him. Shouldn’t he love Ian more than Ian’s murderer? 

Alex squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore the sound of the door closing behind Yassen. He meticulously began to pack his things. He swung the small duffle bag over his shoulder, and looked around the room. He supposed he should change the sheets before Jack came home, but, he shrugged, if he was asked he could just grin and tell her he had had a very nice dream. About Tom. About Sabina. About anyone but Yassen Gregorovich. 

He met Agent Karen Sanders outside of his home. She smiled at him through the rolled-down window of a black Mercedes-Benz and Alex pulled open the door and climbed inside. He could feel Yassen watching him, the assassin stood at the corner of the street, smoking a cigarette, taking long, slow drags, inhaling and exhaling the smoke as his eyes bored into Alex’s back, but Alex never turned around. He never did. But Yassen followed him anyway. 

Alex never could find out how Yassen always found him. But he did. Always. That time in Montenegro, Yassen had appeared on the back of a Ducati, grabbed hold of him, and rode off with Alex hanging precariously to the side of the motorbike. Alex had just about to be executed by firing squad, and once again Yassen had saved his life. The time before that, in Paris, and the time after that in Columbia Yassen had saved his life again. The more Yassen helped him, the harder it was for Alex to find reasons to hate the assassin. So what if he killed people, the blond often found himself thinking, Yassen would never hurt me!

He winced. That wasn’t the way the good guys were meant to think. If he wanted to have that kind of mentality, he should have stayed at Scorpia. Alex sometimes wondered what would happen to him if MI6 ever found out about Yassen and him. He didn’t deny that there was a ‘Yassen and him’; they had come together far too many times for him to deny that. But he didn’t love the Russian. He didn’t. That he was happy to deny to his hearts content, no matter how painful the thought was, or how hurt Yassen always felt as Alex walked away from him. 

Their assignment was the sequel, you could say, to the failed mission in Paris. He and Karen were flying out to Egypt in an hour, posing as a mother and son on a tour of the Nile. Alex’s job was to get kidnapped and sold on to the highest bidder, so he could find out where their hideout was, and who were the key players in Erusaelp. His last owner, Pierre le Frou had not lasted long. Yassen had shot him between the eyes moments after the sale had been finalized. Half of Alex hoped that Yassen being the first to leave had not changed anything about their ‘relationship’, and that Yassen showed up and tried to protect him. The other half of him hoped the Russian didn’t bother. It was very hard to infiltrate a kidnapping organisation when someone refused to let Alex get kidnapped. The teen spy was running out of excuses to tell MI6 about his current run of failed missions. 

“Sorry, Mr. Blunt, but when I arrived Pierre was already dead.”

“Sorry! Mrs. Jones, but after I managed to escape from the firing squad, the police came and shot them all.” 

“I’m sorry, but the drug baron in Columbia doesn’t trust me anymore because Yassen Gregorovich kneecapped him for trying to make me a mule.” 

There were only so many lies that were believable and Alex was running out. 

“Are you enjoying yourself Adam?” His ‘mother’ asked. Alex turned his grin on her, holding up his camera and snapping a photograph of her beaming face. 

“It’s brilliant!” The fifteen-year-old grinned. Wearing, nothing but a pair of shorts, sandals and a baseball cap, Alex knew he was going to attract a few second-glances, and he had not been wrong. The same man who had arranged his first kidnapping was watching him again, but fortunately MI6 had thought ahead. When Alex had arrived at the bank, they had dyed his hair a dark brown, and fitted him with green contact lenses. A bit of fake tan, and Alex looked nothing like himself and more like Adam Henderson. “Too bad dad couldn’t come though.”

“I know, sweet heart. It’s a pity I won’t be able to spend so much time with you after today.” Karen reached out to stroke her son’s cheek, smiling slightly as he flushed pink. She took a covert glance around and noticed at least three people, not including their guide, who were staring interestedly at Alex and two other boys on the tour. Alex recognized at least one of them straight away. 

“I know,” he groaned, “you have to work.”

“You’ll be fine, dear. I spoke to the tour guide, and he’s promised to take care of you.” 

Alex looked to the front of the group where the dark skinned man was looking back at him, and shuddered. There was no doubt about in which way the guide wanted to ‘take care’ of him. 

His thoughts were confirmed that night when the guide appeared at the door to his hotel room and held a wet cloth over his mouth. Alex didn’t fight, Alex knew – just as MI6 had suspected – that this man would bring him to Erusaelp, the organisation that probably had a buyer set up for him already. Alex had laughed at their name, but Mr Blunt had been quite serious when he explained that it was clever in its own way. It was ‘pleasure’ written backwards, but you didn’t pronounce the ‘a’. 

When Alex woke up, he had already been sold. He was relieved to note that he was wearing trousers. They were not his shorts, which was irritating and slightly humiliating. The idea of someone undressing him, of seeing him naked though he had nothing to be ashamed about, brought angry tears to his eyes but he blinked them back. His trousers were baggy around the legs, but tight around the waist, buttocks and ankles, and Alex felt a little silly as he mentally compared himself to Aladdin. 

Bleary eyed, the teenager looked around the room, which seemed to be tilting from side to side. It could possibly just be his head, but when Alex stood he fell to the floor with a wheeze. The floor beneath him seemed to tilt a little, and Alex gasped as he realised he was on a boat. He couldn’t see where he was because the portcullises had all been painted over with black paint. He hoped he hadn’t been unconscious long, because god knows where they were taking him.2 A small part of his brain hoped that Yassen had bought him and that they were on the assassin’s yacht, but he knew it was a useless and stupid thought. 

His new owner left him alone for some time. 

Alex knew his mind should have been assessing the situation, trying to find a solution or conjure an escape plan but all he could think of was Yassen. Why wasn’t the assassin there? Did he not care for Alex any more? That was a selfish thought, Alex realised especially considering how he had treated Yassen as little more than a whore or a bodyguard. He was, admittedly, a little bit selfish and he always had been but didn’t he deserve to be selfish once in a while considering he gave up his freedom and safety for his country? If he was allowed to be selfish, then was it wrong to want Yassen to come and save him? Would it be so very bad to love the other man, if Yassen was the one thing he asked for from MI6 to pay him back for everything he had already sacrificed? Lord knows Alex didn’t get paid for his missions, and he thought he deserved some sort of gratification. Yassen would be enough. 

If his father had been allowed to love his country and his mother, then why couldn’t Alex love Yassen and serve his country at the same time as well? He thought that maybe Ian would have forgiven him, would have wanted him to be happy and would have understood that Alex had the right to fall in love just as much as his father had. 

But did he love Yassen? 

No. 

He wasn’t allowed. 

But what if he was? Did he love Yassen, could he? Yes. 

But he wasn’t allowed, was he? 

His head was starting to hurt, but before he could think any further on it the door to his cabin opened and three men entered. Each of them was tall, bald and muscled and they all watched him with barely disguised lust. They were obviously people who didn’t get any on a regular basis, but then again Alex doubted that their boss was one to share. 

“The Sheik will see you now.” Alex guess that it wasn’t the man’s name, but rather what he chose to be called but he still shuddered softly at the word. “Fear not, little English boy. The Sheik will take good care of you.” The other man’s lips were pressed against Alex’s cheek as he spoke and it was all Alex could do to stop himself lashing out. Only Yassen was allowed to be that close to him. 

“My name is Adam!” He snarled, pushing futilely at the muscled arm that had encircled his waist. He didn’t push hard, not wanting to give away his true strength and training, but he wasn’t going to take this lying down either. “When my mum finds out about this you’ll be sorry!” 

“Sure, kid.” The man who had spoken earlier snorted, “tell me something I haven’t heard before.” His English was very good, but from the confused expressions on the other two men’s faces they didn’t understand a word of the language. “Now, come, it won’t do to keep the Sheik waiting.”

The other two men, who Alex had decided to name One and Two, as opposed to Creepy who was the guy whose arm was _still_ around his waist, came towards him. They grabbed one of his arms each and dragged him away from Creepy. Alex was frog marched between One and Two down the corridor and through several others until he was well and truly lost, until at last they stopped in front of a doorway. There was no door, but instead a long purple silk curtain had been hung from the ceiling, floating down to the floor. Creepy pulled it to the side, and Two shoved Alex forward as One bowed low to the floor. 

“He is here,” Creepy said as he bowed. Two gave a bow and together all three of them backed down the corridor. Alex could hear their breathing, so he knew they were waiting in the hallway just in case anything went wrong. 

He raised his head and looked around slowly. When he had been pushed, he had fallen to the floor, but now he slowly rose to his feet. He eyed the man on the bed warily. He wasn’t handsome, per se, but he wasn’t disgustingly ugly either. He was little more than average actually, Alex thought, in comparison with Yassen who was gorgeous. He lay back on the bed, completely naked and Alex noted with some amusement that even though he was erect he was not a remarkable size. Average, again, just like in looks. What was unusual though, was that surrounding the bed stood or sat seven others. Four girls, all around Alex’s age, stood with their backs against the walls, while three boys, once of which only looked around twelve, sat curled against the Sheik’s side.3 

“Now,” the Sheik held his hand towards Alex. His English was broken and sporadic, but Alex understood the message clearly enough. “My collection is complete.” There were four boys and four girls now, and Alex shuddered as he unconsciously counted himself as one of them. 

Alex took a step away from him and he noticed the tight set of the Sheik’s mouth narrowed out, thinned completely so it looked as if he had no mouth at all. A strange ‘whirring’ noise broke the silence and a few of the girls gasped and huddled against each other. They mumbled in a mix of Russian, Polish and Bulgarian, and Alex could make out fairly little of what they said, but he caught the word ‘helicopter’ easily enough. There was only one person he knew that liked to hang upside down from a moving helicopter. 

Gunshots echoed down the corridors of the boat, bullets ricocheted off the walls and doors, and the girls and boys in the cabin with Alex screamed and threw themselves to the floor as Yassen Gregorovich tore into the room, ripping down the silk curtain. He pointed his gun at the Sheik who only smiled charmingly back at him. 

Sheik held his hand out to Alex again and smiled, his eyes never leaving Yassen’s face. “Come here my love,” he spoke in Russian, and Alex frowned as the assassin’s entire body tensed up. “Tell him how often I have already enjoyed you.” Yassen gritted his teeth, not knowing that it was a bald-faced lie, but not wanting it to be the truth either. 

Without a word, Yassen fired. The Sheik flopped back onto the bed, his mouth open in a shocked circle as a perfect dot of red formed between his eyes. The other teenagers screamed again, crying and pleaded but Yassen paid them no mind. He walked swiftly to Alex and pulled the boy into a desperate, frantic kiss. “Did he touch you?” The Russian hissed. 

One of the girls could understand every word the Sheik had spoken, and when Alex didn’t answer, she whispered, “No,” in Russian. 

“You came,” Alex breathed as he traced Yassen’s bottom lips with his thumb. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

“One of them recognized you as the boy from Paris. He made sure that the information I received, and MI6 received, was not the correct location. They also gave you a higher dosage of chloroform than last time, so unfortunately since you did not wake up in time to see their hideout, this mission is also a failure.” Yassen paused, took a deep breath and whispered, “and I nearly lost you.”

“You’ll never lose me.” Alex breathed without thinking. He spoke what his heart wanted him to say, and for the moment his head was switched off. 

A gunshot fired, and Alex couldn’t figure out where it came from because Yassen had not been pointing a gun at anyone. The Russian grunted, dropping to his knees as blood began to soak through the shoulder of his jumpsuit. Alex heard himself screaming, even as arms grabbed him and a hand closed over his mouth trying to silence him, he could hear himself screaming. He watched as an unfamiliar man hefted Yassen over his shoulder and threw him over the side of the boat into the Nile. Alex struggled against his captor, finally managing to twist out of the other’s hold. He punched, lashing out wildly, no longer caring about finesse or technique and clipped Creepy’s jaw. Alex scrambled across the floor, grabbing hold of Yassen’s abandoned Glock and he raised it shakily and fired. Creepy fell to the ground and didn’t get up again. 

Alex ignored the teenagers and fired at the other man, the one who had shot Yassen. He raised his gun, pointing it at Alex, but just as he was about to squeeze the trigger Alex landed a fatal shot and the man flipped over the railing and sank into the Nile. 

Brown eyes, covered by green contacts, scanned the water, searching for any sign of the Russian. He caught a flash of the black jumpsuit and a mist of red blood floated up towards him. Alex jumped, arms out as he pulled his legs into his chest, landing with a splash. He dove under the surface, swimming down until he could grab a fistful of the black material. Alex tugged, kicking his legs furiously, trying to lift himself and the dead weight back up to the surface. 

They broke the surface, Alex coughing and sputtering and Yassen eerily silent. A moment later, the Russian was flat on his back on the sand, and Alex pumped his chest desperately, his mouth fastening over Yassen’s as he breathed into the unresponsive man. A sound distracted him for a moment, and Alex looked up to see the helicopter circling over him. The pilot looked down worriedly but Alex didn’t care. He only cared about getting Yassen to breath. 

The wound wasn’t fatal, but he had been unconscious when he had hit the water, and Alex honestly didn’t know how long his lover had been under the surface. Time moved out of proportion from the moment he saw the blood welling on Yassen’s arm. Alex pushed against the elder man’s chest again, and finally the Russian coughed. With a shove, Yassen was on his side, choking back up the water he had swallowed before he took a deep, shaky breath and rolled back over to face Alex. 

“I hate you,” the teenager whispered. 

“No you don’t,” Yassen said with a smile. 

“You could have died.” Alex’s nose was running but he wiped it on his wet arm, sniffling. 

“But you saved me.” Yassen sat up, ignoring the pain that throbbed in his shoulder and he tugged Alex into his lap. “Thank you.” He pressed a kiss to Alex’s forehead but the boy shoved him away, crying. 

“I HATE YOU!” He shrieked, “ You could have died. Are you stupid! What the hell were you thinking? Hate you, hate you so much, it hurts, please don’t die!” 

Yassen sat still while Alex beat on his chest, crying and shaking in his lap, and he smiled warmly down at the teenager. “And I love you too, Alex Rider.” Gregorovich gave a small smirk as Alex’s head snapped up suddenly. Wide eyes locked onto his own and Yassen gave a small nod. 

“You never said,” Alex accused. 

“You were not ready to hear it.” 

A rope ladder suddenly dropped down beside them. “I suppose that is your cue to leave,” Alex said sadly. His heart hurt, his conscience was suspiciously silent, and in the silence his heart was begging him to do the right thing. Apparently denial wasn’t just a river in Egypt, but since Alex had just survived the Nile, he supposed he could be honest with himself just this once. “I love you. I’m sorry I haven’t said it sooner.”

“I know,” Yassen told him, one finger pressing against Alex’s lips. 

They stood up. Yassen stepped onto the ladder, his arm hooked around one rope wrung and his feet resting on another as the helicopter continued to hover. Three black Mercedes-Benzes sped towards them and braked at the last possible moment. Doors flew opened and the first person Alex recognized was Karen Sanders. His ‘mother’ on this mission was staring at him with wide eyes and he realized it was probably because he had moved to stand in front of Yassen Gregorovich, world-renowned assassin. The Russian wrapped his free arm around Alex’s waist, and Alex’s feet slid onto the wrung, between Yassen’s own. 

The helicopter began to rise, pulling them higher and away from MI6. Mrs Jones watched him with a frown, sucking on a peppermint, beside her Alan Blunt looked ready to have a heart attack. 

Alex watched them fade away until they looked like ants, or little dots, and he held tighter to Yassen. There was a softness about Alex’s face, and the Russian didn’t think he had ever seen Alex look so much like a child as he did then, grinning up at him with eyes that sparkled. Carefully, Alex took out the contacts and let them drop through the air. Still hanging below the helicopter, holding on to a ladder made of rope, and holding on to his lover, Alex leant up to kiss Yassen Gregorovich. 

He would deal with MI6 and the repercussions some other time. 

For the first time in almost two years, Alex was going to listen to his heart instead of his head.

**The End**

:)


End file.
